(screw you, Ted Hughes.)
SCENE: En
Irresolute
Route-to-Resolution
Two Dueling Lovers
torn
b’tween Love &
Resti/TUTION,
Go at a skillfully-hid game of “Knuckles”
b’neath the booths of a brightly lit, Eatery.
Your eye
Split.
at the seams. Like a pea.
with a surgical
knife—
only in/stigates me.
(Mmpf! When an ECHo Goes Un/ Re/ CIP/ ro/ CATE/ed…)
Prowling
closed-gates
of a titanium
frame—
I. a boulder
wrapped in
Leather hugging
II. ‘n the closer Him hugging
the hold, me...
the tauter
the sling,
the farther
the PITCH;
Only bring/ing me
back-again.
EPILOGUE: coulda’
Sworn
I’d heard the
Christ-Babe
Raw ‘n swaddled
by the cold ‘n
crying;
strewn three feet from
the manger.
Clothed
in-a-raiment
of wet autumn
leaves;
the gutter, his
papoose.
But the Devil, Ted Hughes:
Don’ee
mimic ‘is prey…
